Derby Girls Gone Wild: LA Derby Dolls @ the Doll Factory, 4/12/08

12 April. 6.50pm. Historic Filipinotown, Losanjealous, CA. The Holy Feast of Spring Break, as Losanjealous readers undoubtedly know, is DF’s fave holiday. As I’m fond of saying, “Jesus didn’t die on the cross at Calvary for us NOT to get pants-shittingly drunk while scoping for honeys with our bros in South Padre (or, as the case may be, Cabo).” And this year, DF’s annual spring fling takes on a whole new twist as he has allocated one of the spots on his vernal-equinox-related tour to the Doll Factory in Historic Hi-Fi to witness the magical amalgam of allure and athleticism that is the LA Derby Dolls.

7.23pm DF rolls up to the Doll Factory where spring break promises to be in full effect. I’ve got all the essential gear: puka shell necklace; spray-on tan in tones of burnt umber; “Rock Out With Ya Cock Out” novelty T-shirt; videocamera to capture the flashings and the floozings and whatnot (later confiscated by un-fun rent-a-cops); and, most importantly, a state of abject, near-hallucinogenic drunkenness that I’ve been honing since my first extended meeting with one Senor Cuervo last Tuesday.

7.45pm I manage to stumble through the media check-in and to the VIP bar, where I am informed to my astonishment that no body shots, frozen margs, or kegstands are available. Cabining my disappointment, I weave my way up into the Doll Factory’s brand-new media skybox, where lo: a tub full of icy brews sits for my chuggin’ pleasure. Within moments, I am shirtless and pouring two cans of Prague’s finest straight down my hatch, taking breaths only to bellow—you guessed it—SPRING BREAK!!!!

7.55pm DF’s legs aren’t working so well. I sink into the comfiness of the media skybox’s sweet party sofa and attempt to focus my profoundly inebriated consciousness on the forthcoming game. It pits the undefeated-and-after-two-games-that-might-actually-be-a-
meaningful-designation Tough Cookies against the we’ve-been-on-an-unprecedented-losing-streak-since-DF-started-covering-roller-derby-so-maybe-that-bad-luck-bringing-
motherfucker-should-step-off Fight Crew. The stakes are simple: if the Cookies win, they clinch a spot in the 2008 championship game and the Fight Crew’s hopes for same are all but dashed; but if the FC can pull out a victory, the race for first place is up in the air.

8.03pm The whistle blows and the juice is loose! The Fight Crew begin with a well-distributed attack, as Fighty Almighty, Crystal Deth, and Racy DC all contribute four-point jams early on. The Cookies stay in the game, though, with Laguna Beyatch and Gori Spelling racking up enough points to keep the contest finely balanced. At the end of the first quarter, the Crew lead narrowly, 18-14.

8.23pm DF’s award for violentest hit of the night goes to Fight Crew cap’n Myna Threat. Midway through the first quarter, Tough Cookies jammer Laura Palm-her looks likely to escape the opposing blockers, when all of a sudden, Myna launches herself headlong out of the pack and lays a flying hit on Laura (who, for the record, could not really look less like Laura Dern), precluding what likely would have been a point-scoring jam. Truly, it is an impressive combination of acrobatic skill mixed with the kind of unadulterated malice that would lead one to, say, forcibly remove a baby’s arm from its socket.

8.32pm Celebrity sighting! No, not Drew Barrymore again (although she’s here, of course, along with Ellen Page, who is, I’m afraid, Canadian). Far, far weirder: it first appears that Marilyn Monroe has risen from the dead to represent at the Doll Factory. Moments later, DF deduces the rather less disturbing truth that the Marilyn-doppelgaenger is really LADD co-founder Demolicious in typically dramatic sartorial splendor. The surreal theme continues moments later as Tough Cookies jammer Laura Palm-her finds heretofore unknown reserves of greatness and nails an unprecedented ten-point (!) jam. Laura’s record-setting feat takes a game that was finely equipoised only a few minutes before the end of the second quarter and puts the Cookies into a commanding 37-28 lead.

8.39pm Halftime, baby, and the spring break antics are going to reach a fever pitch! DF pounds a couple Zimas, lays on some Axe Body Spray, and heads into the fray. Now if there is one inflexible maxim that we can derive from any number of youth-oriented reality-style moviefilms, it is this: the likelihood that a honey will flash you rises in direct proportion to the number of beaded necklaces you bestow upon her. Fact: DF has seventy-seven beads. Let the boobies commence!!! “Hey, pretty lady, want some beads? …No? Okay, I’ll just keep these.” “Whoa, mamacita, here’s some beads for you, so… Hey, come back, I need those for…” “Attention, gorgeous! I got some beads here with your name on them if you want to… No, don’t leave—we had a quid pro quo going here…”

8.50pm Back in the media skybox to await the start of the second half. Good news: still drunk, shirtless, and got rid of all those beads. Less good news: bead distribution resulted in exactly zero boobie flashings. What have I learned from this? Simple: SPRING BREAK RULES!!! WOOO!!!

9.18pm The second half begins and however much the Fight Crew valiantly assay to chip away at the deficit, the Cookies’ blockers patiently defuse jam after jam. Krissy Krash delivers particularly tooth-juddering hits, at one point knocking Fighty Almighty airborne with enough force that the FC jammer’s full dorsal landing on the banked track causes all in the media skybox to cringe and/or look away in empathic suffering. (NB: to her credit, and my amazement, Fighty rises up Lazarusesquely and skates the next jam.)

9.46pm The Tough Cookies appear to have put the game out of reach, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do some hi-volume boozing in the waning moments of the game! Producing a beer bong, DF addresses assembled media and sponsor types and raises the challenge: “Who’s up for some chuggin’, bitches?” The blank stares I receive are obvious invitations for DF to start the festivities. I show these lightweights what spring break (!) is all about, pounding a heady blend of Tecate, Sparks, and what I learn later is several ounces of Axe Body Spray. The onlookers are so impressed that they shake their heads in what I can only assume is complete and utter admiration.

10.09pm As the Cookies celebrate their 59-49 win (and, more importantly, clinch a spot in the championship game), DF’s evening descends into an inebriated haze. Goal: stagger in the direction of City of Angels Medical Center to see about a merciful, and possibly life-saving, stomach-pumping. Yet by this point, my ability to tell directions (and, more concerning, to walk) has degraded almost completely, and my last hazy recollection is of wandering along Glendale Blvd. in the direction of downtown, arm-in-arm with a friendly homeless gentleman, singing Jimmy Buffett songs en espanol.

13 April. 5.03am. God knows where, CA. DF wakes in a particularly fetid gutter in the wee hours of Sunday morn. Some things are missing, viz., my pants (wallet included), the contents of my stomach (hence fetid character of gutter), and any shreds of dignity I may have had left (obv.). Other things, however, are all too present, such as the nuclear hellscape of a hangover that throbs in my skull. Well, that’s just proof that the rumors are true: the Doll Factory is fast eclipsing your Cancuns and Lauderdales as the most raging spring break party of them all. All you posers and poindexters who stayed home instead of rockin’ out this past Saturday totally missed the best party ever. But all is not lost: you can at least make up for it by partying hearty at the next derby event, an all-star bout between the crème de la LA Derby Dolls and their mortal enemies (and, somewhat confusingly, partial namesakes) to the south, the San Diego Derby Dolls. The battle for SoCal supremacy goes down May 3, brozefs. DF out.